Dark Katrina
by FyreBlood13
Summary: My own twist off a horror story I heard as a kid. 99% of it is my oc. And yes...they ARE werewolves.
1. Chapter 1

It was a dank, cold night in the Valley Of Midnight. The sky was black and starless, so thick with clouds you could not tell it was a full moon from behind them. The wind howled, so like the wolves in the Valley below. The pounding rain fell down in torrents from the offending clouds, coming down hard enough to soak a wolf through to the bone in a matter of seconds. All in all, it was a normal, average night in the Valley. Surrounding the Valley Of Midnight was a high, steep ridge, to treacherous for any mere mortal human to scale.

Violante paused at the top of the ridge, her ears pricked forward, straining for any noise. She always checked for other signs of life before descending, for you could never be too careful in the Valley. She thought she had heard a rustling movement behind her a while ago; though how she had heard it though the storm she did not know. Nimbly, she descend down the steep ridge, using the trees to stop her from plunging down the almost vertical cliff. Scrambling down, dropping from tree to unsteady tree, her movements looked almost sphinx-like in their precise, controlled grace, if any wolf was there to watch her. And, finally she got to the bottom of the ridge, panting slightly from the precarious descent. She paused again, pricking her ears forward once more, listening for any sound of danger through rain so thick it seemed to wrap around her, stifling all her senses. She had thought she had heard another noise.

Violante shook her head; she was just being a paranoid fool. Only a crazy wolf would dare brave the weather tonight. Her mind at ease, she started walking towards the camp n the center of the Valley…Suddenly, there was a pair of paws around her throat. She struggled in vain for any kind of release, for the soft, velvety paws around her neck to relent and let her struggling lungs receive the air they needed, but it was futile. Her opponent was too strong, and her efforts too meager to warrant any kind of relent on her attacker's part. The she-wolf cursed herself for not checking to make sure her suspicions were not true; her lapse of common sense could now cost her her life. As she slipped out of consciousness, into the blissful, silken realm of the unaware, her mind was racing, until the candle of her brain was snuffed out into the never-ending darkness, and she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Violante awoke with a jolt, her heart in her throat, beating wildly. She could feel her bubbling, boiling blood throbbing through her veins, hot and sweet with life. Her head was pounding, her eyes were straining to see anything,to capture any sign of reality in the pressing, engulfing darkness. She shook her head groggily, trying to get her bearings, trying to figure out where in the world she was. All the movement of her head accomplished, however, was adding a throbbing sensation to the pain already in her head. She wanted to rub the pain out of her temples, just wanted this ordeal to be finished with… but she found that her forepaws were bound together above her head.

Struggling against the bonds was useless, she realized after a few minutes of writhing against the ties. Her forepaws were too well-bound, and all of her struggling efforts wouldn't do squat to get her free. She looked around, realizing that she was in a warm, comfortable dry cave; albeit one that was engulfed in an almost unreal blackness. She tried to turn to her side, to inspect her body for any injuries, but she found that her paws were tied as well. She pointed her muzzle up; trying to steal a glimpse at what was binding her paws above her head.

She realized that she was lying on a low bed that was pushed against a corner of the cave. A single candle was set on a waist-high, table-sized flat rock in the center of the cave. Her forepaws tied to a small rock jutting out of the wall, and her paws were tied open, to the bedposts. Sighing, she took a deep breath…and at the top of her lungs, shouted, "Dark Katrina, AGAIN?"


	3. Chapter 3

Violante sighed as an older female wolf walked into the section of the cave she was bound to. The female was exquisite, definitely an alpha, for she radiated a sense of power and regality. Dark as the night, with violet eyes that glinted like stars, she was stunning. Violante herself was something to gaze at; her reddish-amber coat gleamed in the sunlight, showing off caramel-yellow colored highlights. Most of the males said she looked like autumn personified. And Violante had a personality to match. Her initial behavior was sweet, warm-hearted, and kind, the metaphorical last warm rays of summer.

Other wolves, from different packs, who did not know her very well, thought she was sweet, friendly, and maybe even a bit naïve. When she was around the wolves from other packs, she acted almost as if she were a pup again, bubbling with boistous enery and joy for life. She would run and jump, snap at butteflies, chase the the mice that ran from her with such delicious terror, and fump and try ti catch the birds that flew high above her head.

But those of her own pack, those who knew her well, and that one wolf who knew her inside and out, like a favorite book, they saw through her façade.

Inside, her heart was of the cold, harsh winds that came in the late fall, the harsh, chilling gales that seemed to rip the fur right off your body, and steal away all the warmth, right from your very bones. Her sweet voice could turn harsh as nails in a second, and her friendly demeanor could harden, becoming so brittle you were afraid she would break and send shards of glass screaming towards you in a hostile assault. Her small body that once upon a time had seemed charming to other wolves could turn into a small, lithe killing machine in seconds.

And the dark Alpha that stood before her knew this.


End file.
